The Eye of The Storm
by Kovacsgirl
Summary: John wanders his house with insomnia, questioning his morals. Could be considered a "toned down" version of "Russian Roulette."


The Eye of the Storm  
  
Author: Sarah  
E-mail: kovacsgirl@yahoo.com  
Category: John Carter angst  
Rating: PG  
Spoilers: Season 6  
Archive: e-mail me if you want this story for your site.  
Disclaimer: Nothing's changed. I still don't own ER. *Sigh*  
Author's Notes: Another Carter angst. This one I wrote thinking of an English assignment. (Wow! It wasn't insomnia!) I hope this one turns out good.  
Summary: John wanders his house with insomnia.   
  
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He knew what that was. But is that what he had? It could be maniac depression disorder. Or Borderline Personality Disorder. That's right. It had nothing to do with the accident. He had always been like this. Or, he had just had a tough life. It was not the results of the past year. He knew he was wrong. He could tell himself that this had nothing to do with February, but he couldn't convince himself. He would never convince himself.   
  
He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling of the room. The room was familiar. But he was a stranger. He didn't recognize himself anymore. He didn't want to. The shadows danced across the room, calling and beckoning to him to come with them to the world of sleep. He wanted to join them, he longed to join them. To rest for five minutes. To be released from the pain for a moment or two. But it was a hopeless campaign. A war he could not win. For he knew the moment he closed his eye, he would have visions of her. Maybe if her were lucky, she would appear as she did before the accident. But it was usually after the accident. Blood. Blood everywhere. And the pain that he had caused. She would point her finger at him and whisper accusations. Or plead for help. He would try to run to her, but he would be held back. Then he would hear snippets from that night. Luka's worried accent. Benton's rough orders. The beeping of the monitor. His head would pound and he would jump awake, bathed in a cold sweat. He would relive that hellish night over and over. All he could do was watch, like he did last time.   
  
So he got up, wandering through the house. The eerie, pale green light from the moon filtered into the rooms. It lighted his impromptu path, involuntarily guiding his steps. When he was young, and he couldn't sleep, he wandered through the house like this. Although, he would be nervous, worried that he couldn't fall asleep. Now he was nervous and worried that he would fall asleep. He wandered down the hall, driven by an invisible force. He walked to the bathroom, staring at his reflection. His had once been a handsome face. Now it was hollow. Dark circles ran under his eyes and his skin was yellow, forced insomnia taking its toll. He laughed sullenly for a moment. Once he had been called a chipmunk. Someone had told him that he looked like one. If only that person could see him now. His chin was dotted with stubble. John, you look like hell, he told himself, leaving the bathroom.   
  
Downstairs, he wandered through the living room. The moon's light was shifting as the night progressed. It was a familiar path that he followed now, once he got downstairs. He would walk to each room and look around, as if he were looking for a robber or something. He might try to find something to read in the library, but every book his family owned brought back the fearful memories of February. So he would cross the hall into the ballroom. Where he and Lucy had danced that one night. It seemed so long ago that he had crossed the floor with her. But, if he went downstairs closer to the morning hours, his sleep driven delusions might conjure up a memory that was more than a memory. His delirious state of mind would bring back the picture of their dance. He could see the dance take place again. Hear the music. Watch Lucy's dress swirl near the floor. See her graceful movements. Listen to their conversation. Her laugh. But soon, as soon as the hallucination had appeared, it would vanish. Next he would go into the den. He would flip on the television and half-heartedly watch the programs. In that state between sleep and wakefulness, he would watch the distorted images cross the screen. He would stay in that position for a while. Then, as the early morning sunshine stole across the horizon, he would get up and make some breakfast. Gamma would come down and reprimand him for staying up so late, or waking up so early, he would and couldn't remember.   
  
He would crawl back upstairs and prepare for the day. He dreaded going to work. Where all this started. And ended. He would go back to his bathroom. The thought of taking one pill would torment him. It had been one pill yesterday. Or the day before. Or before… One wouldn't hurt. No not like the pain he was experiencing now. He took one more pill and began to get ready to go to work. He thought little of his decision as he went to work. The day in May was such a beautiful one.   
  
*El Fin*   



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